


March of the Falsettos

by bothetrashmouth



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), F/M, Falsettos AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothetrashmouth/pseuds/bothetrashmouth
Summary: After being reunited with his best friend, Richie’s interest is piqued by Eddie, a feisty young man. His best friend, Stan is a psychiatrist who finds himself falling for one of his patients; something he specifically decided not to do. (Or; the Falsettos inspired fic)





	March of the Falsettos

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Falsettos au!! Let's do this!!  
> Note: this isn't taking the story of falsettos and replacing names/faces. This is _inspired_ by falsettos, with Richie/Marvin, Stan/Mendel, Eddie/Whizzer, Bill/Trina, etc.  
>  Also don't expect updates a lot I'm terrible at that.

Richie was one to frequently forget a face. He met plenty of people in a day to make for a social group, and it changed with every passing day. He only remembered names and faces that would really impact his day. People who give him discounts, bosses, bartenders who don’t make him pay for his drinks; the important stuff.

Once he forgot someone, he never needed to remember them again. Because if he forgot them, they weren’t important. That was his rule. He knew one day there would be an exception. People separate and forget each other, possibly without meaning to. It happens.

He just didn’t expect it to come so quickly.

* * *

 

Richie walked into the pharmacy with a stride in his step. He needed a refill on his meds. He was pretty sure he was gonna explode if he kept fidgeting so much.

“Good day, Dr. How’s the dog?” he waved to the old, greasy pharmacist that Richie was convinced had a thing for little girls with ponytails.

“She’s fine. How’s your niece?” Dr. Keene gave the same oily, wrinkly grin and Richie felt his ears get hot. He regretted showing off his sister’s daughter to Keene. Very much so, in fact.

Richie shrugged. “‘Bout as fine as your daughter. She in town, by the way? I’d love to see her again.” Richie said coyly.

The smile fell from the doctor’s face. “What do you need, Tozier?”

“Refill.” Richie said simply, pulling out the small containers and setting them on the counter.

Dr. Keene took them, grumbling and disappeared behind a white door. Richie watched as someone took his place.

The man was probably Richie’s age, maybe a few months younger. He was, in Richie’s opinion, thirteen feet tall. He had curly golden hair that was slicked back until the tips curled around his ears. Pointed ears and chin, a bored, almost annoyed looked across his sharp features and a necklace with David’s star hanging around his neck.

Richie felt like he had been slapped in the face. He was hit with the long-forgotten memory of early morning tea, laughter in the dead of night. Particular organization and intense glares, elbows jabbing into his side after a joke. Growth spurts, bike rides and a incredibly impressive bar mitzvah.

“ _Stan_?”

The man looked up and Richie’s breath hitched. Yes, that was certainly Stan. Richie recognized that mixed look of temper and curiosity behind methodical, glassy hazel eyes anywhere.

The man gave Richie a once over and Richie watched realization appear in his features. “R-” he paused. “Richie?”

His voice was deep. Really deep but it was smooth and rich like melted chocolate. It was a huge contrast to Richie’s; which was deep and rough like sandpaper.

“Stanley! Stan the Man! The Jew with a plan- mother fucker! It’s you!!” Richie beamed.

“Richie.” Stan breathed, he sounded… relieved. “Richie it’s-” He bit his lip. “It’s good to see you.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Richie frowned.

There was a beat of silence.

“Okay, I lied.” Stan admitted, walking around the counter, until he was face to face with Richie. “It’s  _amazing_ to see you, dumbass.”

The two broke into matching grins and Richie pulled Stan into a hug, ignoring the annoying height difference.

“Look at you!” he cried. “You’re so  _tall_! When the fuck did you sprout like this??”

“I hit 6’7” in late uni-”

“You’re not wearing your frisbee-”

“Where the hell are your glasses?”

“I switched to contacts for the cameras!”

“God, you’re still a fashion disaster-”

“Oh, Sugar, I never stopped-”

“You hair- is that ginger roots I see? Finally accepted it?”

“How about your hair, Uris? Where’d that nest go? How will the bird sleep?”

“  _Mr. Tozier_.” Dr Keene growled from behind the counter, holding full pill bottles. “  _Please_ let go of Mr. Uris.” he looked to Stan. “  _Mr. Uris_.  _Please_ let go of Mr. Tozier and get back to work.”

Stan blushed furiously, with apologies spilling from his mouth. Richie just grinned. “How can you interrupt such a wonderful reunion? We’ve been apart for so long-”

“I can with pride. Please; your pills. You two are causing a scene.”  
Stan slipped a small piece of paper into Richie’s pocket, patted his shoulder, and dashed back around the counter, still apologizing to the doctor.

Richie swiped the bottles from Keene. “Good day Sir.”

-

Richie collapsed into a seat in his favourite downtown coffee shop with the single most convoluted, complicated drink money could buy. It cost $50 dollars but taking a sip, as half the building stared at him in horror, it was worth it.

He took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles. Something pointy poked his hip, and his hand shot down to catch it.

He flipped it out and looked it over. It was a small baby blue business card.

**Stanley M. Uris**

**Psychiatrist**   **(###-####-#####)**

Richie raised his eyebrows. Psychiatrist huh? Fancy.

He pulled out his phone and typed the number into his messenger.

 **(14:56)** ** _To: UNKNOWN NUMBER_** **:** Is this Stantonio the Uronio? Therapist and King of the Losers?

Sent. And waiting.

 **(15:01)** ** _From: UNKNOWN NUMBER:_  **Yes this is Stan. Richie, I assume? Dick of Derry and NYC’s shittiest Italian?

Richie laughed. Only Stan calls Richie “ _Dick of Derry_ ”

 **(15:03) To:** ** _Stantonio_** **:**  im wutever u want me 2 b bb ;)

 **(15:04) From:** ** _Stantonio_ :** Fucker.

-

 **(15:09) From:** ** _Italian Bitch_  ** **:**  ;)))) u wan sum fuk stanny?

 **(15:09) From:** ** _Italian Bitch_  ** **:** ;))))))))))))

Stan covered his mouth to stifle the laugh. That little  _shit_.

 **(15:11) To:** ** _Italian Bitch_  ** **:** You shit I’m still at work.

 **(15:13) From: Italian Bitch:** /Why/

 **(15:13) From: Italian Bitch:** It’s 3 man just leave bro

 **(15:15) To: Italian Bitch:** I can’t. I need money. It’s this thing called a ‘Job’. Maybe you’ve heard of it?

 **(15:16) From: Italian Bitch:** Damn alright

 **(15:20) From: Italian Bitch:** I have a job bruh I’m a comedian.

 **(15:21) To: Italian Bitch:** Could’ve fooled me.

 **(15:22) From: Italian Bitch:** DAMN ALRIGHT

Stan barked out another laugh. He felt like a teenager, secretly texting his best friend in the back room of his shitty job.

Well, it wasn’t  _actually_ his job. He was put in that pharmacy because his office was being renovated, and he still needed to pay bills. Since Keene needed someone to help out around the office while his daughter (That  _bitch_ , Stan growled when he saw the mess she left behind) was out of town.

Stan heard the back door open and put his phone in his pocket before shuffling around bottles and other supplies, organizing it as Keene poked his crooked head in. “What are you doing in here?” He snarked.

“More than you, likely.” Stan snapped back. He wasn’t afraid of Keene. Even if he was fired, the only consequence would be a tight budget for a while. He could handle it.

Keene closed the door again, grumbling, and Stan counted to 7 before pulling out his phone.

 **(15:23) From:** ** _Italian Bitch_** **:** SO when we hanging out? Howzabout Saturday? 

-

 **(15:30) From:** ** _Stan <33333:_** Your typing is atrocious. Saturday works.

 **(15:31) To:** ** _Stan <33333_:** You’re*

 **(15:31) From:** ** _Stan <33333_ **: FUCKER.

 **(15:32) To:** ** _Stan <33333:_** your’re’nt’d

 **(15:33) From:** ** _Stan <33333:_** Stop.

 **(15:37) To:** ** _Stan <33333:_** y'all’dn't've

 **(15:39) From:** ** _Stan <33333: _**I’m begging you.

 **(15:40) To:** ** _Stan <33333: _**Then beg.

Richie probably looked stupid, walking into his apartment with a big dopey grin on his face, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Where the fuck was this tech when they were kids?

 _Not that we’ve changed_. He thought as he unlocked and opened the door.

 **(15:50) To:** ** _Stan <33333: _**Okay srs tho saturday where are we going

 **(15:54) From:** ** _Stan <33333: _**Where do you want to go?

 **(16:00) To:** ** _Stan <33333: _**Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh there’s a bar close to my place we could hit. 6 work for you?

-

 **(16:04) To:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:**  Yeah that works for me.

 **(16:05) From:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:** What’s my contact name on your phone?

 **(16:05) From:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:** I have to know.

 **(16:07) To:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:** Cagna Italiana.

 **(16:08) From:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:** Who’s the fucker KNOW

 **(16:08) From:** ** _Cagna Italiana_  ** **:** FUCK

Stan chuckled and put his phone back in pocket. The conversation seemed to be over. Richie could talk for a long time, yes, but Stan knew that Richie had the attention span of a 2 year old goldfish.

At least Stan  _thought_ he did until Stan felt his phone buzz again.

 **(16:12) From:** ** _Cagna Italiana_** **:** Why don’t you make it “Italian bitch in Italian”

 **(16:14) To:** ** _Italian Bitch_** **:** Why don’t you shut the fuck up.

 **(16:14) From:** ** _Italian Bitch_** **:** You tried it didn’t you

 **(16:16) From:** ** _Italian Bitch:_** you DID I know you did

 **(16:17) To:** ** _Italian Bitch:_** It doesn’t FIT.

 **(16:18) From:** ** _Italian Bitch:_** HA

\---

Richie was picking the best worst shirt to wear when his phone rang on Saturday night. He clicked speaker before turning back to his mirror and holding up two flowery dressup shirts. “Richie Tozier speaking.”

“ _Richie, it’s Stan._ ”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Richie said cheekily.

“ ** _Rich_**.”

“Yo.”  
  
Stan sighed. “I _know I said we could hang out but I forgot that I had promised a friend-_ ”

“You have friends other than me?”

“  _-beep beep- That I’d get together with him today. Do you mind if I bring a plus one?_ ”

Richie made an  _of course_  face before remembering that he was alone in his house and Stan couldn’t see him. “Of c-”

“ _Great, see you in a bit_.”

“Douche.”

Stan’s signature hum of contentment buzzed on the other end before the call dropped.

Well, if Stan could bring a plus one then so could Richie, right? Richie punched a number into the phone before putting it on speaker and going back to his shirt.

 _“Hello?_ ”

“Billy! It’s Richie.” Richie smiled, silly Bill, not looking at the number before answering.

“ _Hey Richie, what’s up?_ ”

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to hang with a new friend, and old friend and me at a bar in about-” he squinted at the clock. “49 minutes?”

Bill breathed through his teeth. “That’s a tight schedule. What bar?”

“Chucks; down the block and to the left of my place? You in or are you a square?”

There was a pause and a huff on the other end. “I don’t wanna be a square but I don’t know if I can make the timing.”

Richie barked out a laugh. “It’s okay if you’re late, block man, jus’ as long as I get t’see ya.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, you will, egg head._ ”

Richie giggled as Bill hung up on him, audibly rolling his eyes.

He decided on a nice dress up shirt, some skinny jeans (they’re  _hip_!) and a blue floral blazer.

He looked himself in the mirror. No point in wearing contacts- he’s going to see Stan! Stan likes his glasses. Possibly.

Richie had five pairs of glasses. For no good reason. The only reasons were that he loved being able to choose a pair for his outfit and he  _loved_ bragging about it.

He plucked his pair of thick rimmed orange, for contrast (which was really the only thing Richie knew when it came to fashion) and put back his bright yellow ones. (He had thick rimmed orange, cat eye yellow, wire-framed copper, aviator blue and heart shaped red ones. No, none of them were sunglasses.)

(He had seven pairs of sunglasses. For the sole reason that he  _could_. And seven was his lucky number.)

“Egg head.” Richie scoffed, echoing Bill’s words and throwing on a watch and a matte black earring. “He has  _no_ idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stanley sat down in the bar, disgusted and slightly uncomfortable. The air was hot and the bartender wasn’t. The drinks looked… warm. He also kept getting elbowed by nearly every passersby and drunk- and Stan didn’t care for  _that shit_ at  _all_.

“I’m sorry this was so last minute. A-and not on time either.” Stan sighed, eyes flickering to his watch.

“Oh it’s not a big deal. I like bars more that I’m willing to admit.” the other man said, looking around a little. “So - high class bar, fancy shirt, this guy knows how to party?”

Stan blushed. He  _was_ wearing a nice shirt. And nice pants. It just felt… like a cause for celebration. Seeing Richie after all these years. It was something to dress up for.

“Well- He’s wealthy but I wouldn’t say he  _knows how to party_ or is  _high class_.” Stan scoffed.

“No?”

Remembering how Richie was when they were kids passed by Stan’s inner train of thought. He hadn’t changed much, in the little time they spent together on Wednesday and all the texts they had exchanged. Stan, in the few seconds pause between the conversation, came up with what he thought was an excellent way to describe his friend.

“He’s what happens when you take the D&D player to theater and he somehow wins the lottery.”

“Who is? I am? Me?  _Stan!_ ” Came the voice of the man of the hour. Stan couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he stood up to hug him.

Richie was grinning too - and Stan noted he hadn’t grown into his mouth yet. It was still to big for his face.

Richie looked  _horrendous_. “Oh my  _God._ ” Stan said, looking at his outfit. All black aside from a flowery blazer and orange glasses that - though they made his eyes look greener than they had ever been - looked  _horrible_. His piercings stood out and he was wearing 3  _completely_ different rings on his hands.

Stan shivered. At least  _he_ had a sense of style.

Richie dropped the smile and froze, looking at Stan’s outfit. “Why are you dressed as a waiter.” He said - less of a question, more of challenging Stan in telling him he looks like a waiter.

Next to Stan, there was wheezing laughter.

“Fucker I do not.” Stan told him, pointing at him. “You look like a millionaire off of  _Disney_. Dumbass.”

Richie made a motion with his finger, sticking his tongue out. “I’m Trashmouth and you’re watching Disney Channel. Who’s wheezy?” he asked, pointing to the source of the ongoing laughter. It was harsh and sounded like he had a cough.

“This is Eddie, Kaspbrak. He’s a friend of mine.” Stan put his hand gently on Eddie’s shoulder. He was trying very hard to stop laughing, but something told Stan that a combination of the 3 tequila shots Eddie had had, with of being in a crowded area and laying his eyes on Richie unfortunate sense of fashion (or lack thereof), he wasn’t going to be able to breath for another few seconds.

“Cute. Cute cute cute cute.” Riche grinned. “I have- uhhm.” Richie stopped, emotion fell from his face and he stared into space for a few seconds, one finger in the air wagging like a puppy’s tail. “I have someone comin’ here. Name’s Bill. Should be here soon.”

“Great, more people. Sounds lush.” Stan grumbled, sitting back down, back bumping against the bar. Ow.

Eddie was still choking a bit, but he put his hand out to shake, coughing and trying to take deep breaths. “Nice to - fuck - nice to meet you.”

Richie bowed dramatically and grabbed Eddie’s outstretched hand and kissed his knuckles. Stan watched in mild amusement as horror grew on Eddie’s face. He yanked his hand out of Richie’s grasp, looking at Richie like he had described in full detail how he had plans to rip Eddie’s arm off.

“ _Don’t_ touch me like  _that_!” Eddie shrieked, pulling out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his small bag.

“Your mom said otherwise.” Richie said slyly, shrugging and walking to the otherside of Stan and sitting down.

“This is going well.” Stan hummed, talking to RIchie but gazing at Eddie as he vigorously rubbed his hands. “Probably should’ve told you he’s a chronic germaphobe.”

“Sounds festive.” Richie commented before turning to the bartender. “Can I get myself a white russian and I’m gonna want a strawberry martini in, say, ten minutes? Thanks Doll. You’re a babe.”

Richie turned back to Stan. “So how has your-” he checked his watch. It had been 5 hours since they had last texted. “- last 20 years been?”

Stan snorted. “Spent 8 years in college to listen to people complain about their problems.” he said. “Though it’s more straight white guys who have as much heart as they do intell. Good pay though.”

“Sounds festive.” Richie repeated, sipping his drink. “How ‘bout you Eds? What d’you do?”

Eddie did not look happy to be talking to Richie again. “I’m a chauffeur. I own a taxi-chauffeur company.” he said curtly. “And don’t call me Eds. My  _name_ is _Eddie_.”

“Sure thing Spaghetti.” Richie winked.

“How about you? You said you’re a comedian?” Stan said, feeling the familiar contentment from being around Richie rise in his chest.

“I am. I have a show comin’ out on Netflix-  _On Fire Garbage Can_. Comes out in a month. I think it’s pretty good if I do say so myself and I  _say so_.” Richie rambled. “Working with Netflix is weird because I still watch them? It’s like-”

“Richie!”

Richie looked over into the crowd with piqued interest. “Billiam? You’re early!” he called, standing up and putting an arm around someone from the crowd. Stan’s jaw dropped. Next to him, Eddie gasped.

“ _That’s Bill Denbrough_!!” Eddie said in a hushed tone. “ _What the fuck_!!”

Bill was shorter, lean with auburn hair cut to be pushed back, plump lips with warmly coloured stubble wrapped his face. He was  _gorgeous_.

“Stantonio, Eddie Spaghetti, this is Billiam. He’s a good friend of mine. Play nice.”

“Eddie. Kaspbrak.” Eddie gasped, holding his hand out to shake. “I  _love_ your books - they’re some of my favourites - I’m a big fan. It’s so cool to meet you, Uh, sir.”

Bill smiled and Stan was glad he had been sitting down. Bill took Eddie’s hand. “Always nice to meet a fan- But just call me Bill. Can I ask what your favourite work of mine is?”

Eddie looked completely gone and put his other hand on top of Bill’s. “You can ask whatever you want.” he said dreamily before shaking his head and letting go of Bill entirely. “Sorry - my favourite is The General - it’s genius!! I-I’ve never been one for zombies- or.. Or germs, uhm, for that matter - but it’s so well written-”

Richie chuckled. “He  _is_ cute. He single?”

Stan peeled his vision off of Bill - he could watch Bill’s adam’s apple bob for an unhealthy amount of time - “Uh.. yeah. He’s uh, he’s gay too. Yeah.” he said before going back to the main attraction. It took him a second to register that he just shared Eddie’s deepest secret to a loudmouthed flirt. He swung around to face Richie.

“Hey.” he snapped his fingers and pointed to himself. “Look at me- Fucker. _Don’t_ flirt with Eddie. He can’t know I told you he’s gay.”

“Bill’s pan and single.” Richie supplied. “He also could use a psychiatrist.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows.

Stan glared at him. “I-I didn’t need to know that.”

“You have a boner for Bill.” Richie said, smiling. “Billner?”

“... no I don’t.”

“You hesitated.”

“Motherfucker you can’t do this to me right now. Eddie already hates you.” Stan hit Richie’s shoulder.

“Pfft. He doesn’t hate me.” Richie licked his lips. “And besides.. What’s wrong with hate sex?”

Stan let out an exasperated noise. “ _Everything_.”

“You’re doing it wrong, Uris.”

“You’re not doing it at all, Tozier.”

Richie barked out a loud laugh that caught the attention of Bill and Eddie.

“Oh, Uhm, Hi, I’m Bill.”

Stan stood up out of pure awkwardness, but he took Bill’s hand. Bill was almost a foot shorter than him. Fucking height.

“Stanley M. Uris.” he gave a faint smile but it probably looked like he was having a stroke.

Next to the both of them, Richie tapped Bill on the shoulder. “I’m Richie.”

Bill laughed, shoving Richie a little. “I know who you are!”

“Unfortunately.” Eddie sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

The four grabbed a table by the window and sat and talked for a few hours, Richie sat down next to Eddie, cramming him into the seat. Bill sat down next to Stan, who was hoping he wasn’t as red as he felt.

Eddie was blushing too, but only because Richie wouldn’t stop talking about sex.

He was also  _close_ to Eddie.  _Too_ close. Close enough that Eddie could feel the warmth radiating off of him and smell his cologne - he tried not to focus on how nice it smelled. It was like a warm bedroom. Or maybe it was just his laundry detergent.

Either way Richie was annoying. Very much so, in fact.

 _And_ Richie kept  _touching_ him. Nonchalantly bumping their legs together, holding an arm around the back of the booth and playing with his hair. Everytime Richie’s long fingers grazed his scape, Eddie’s entire body shivered.  

The worst part of it was Richie was charming. He was hilarious and had the table in stitches for the better part of the night. Everytime the waitress came by he throw a joke and leave her giggling. He had a contagious smile and was _nice_. He kept complimenting the drinks, the bar, Bill, Stan and Eddie. He called Eddie  _names_.  _Sugar, Baby, Doll, Sweets, Love_.

It was pissing Eddie off because he wanted to  _hate_ Richie. But it just wasn’t happening. He snarled and snapped at Richie, being surprisingly rude to him all night, but Richie always responded with a smile and whistle.

Dumbass.

Stan on the other hand, was slowly sinking into his seat. Bill was so  _kind_ and listened to everything everyone was saying. It made Stan’s heart flutter. Every time Stan spoke, he would stammer and stutter when he looked up to see Bill’s bright blue eyes looking at him with genuine interest-- It stressed him out. He wasn’t used to being attracted to people.

 _“He also could use a psychiatrist”._ No kidding. Stanley spotted sign after sign that Bill was trying to cope with anxiety. He stuttered- not in the way Stanley stuttered. He excused himself to the washroom and Richie told them a childhood trauma - an intense car crash - left him with a stutter that’s recently gotten worse. Richie couldn’t specify why,

Stan had a few guesses. But he refrained himself from asking about it. There’s a time and a place for everything.

He also picked up on Bill’s intense fidgeting. Bill always had something in his hands, twitching it around his fingers. When he made gestures, his hands shook lightly.

Stan tried not to focus on it, but it was his job - he had worked a better chunk of his life  working towards - helping people. He couldn’t  _not_ take Bill apart psychologically. It was sewn into his nature. In his attempt to ignore it. He tried to focus on the little details of Bill’s (  _very attractive_ ) appearance and connect meanings and causations to them - it was possibly one of his favourite pastimes.

(He would tell people it’s because he prefers knowing all that he can about people, only Richie knew it was because he actually just loved feeling like Sherlock Holmes.)

Bill had a scribble of pen written on his left wrist. It read, in a hasty text, read _Chucks 6 RT_. It was smudged, like he made a weak attempt to scrub it off. His fingers were tinted black, like he had rubbed ink off. Stan came to the conclusion he liked to draw.

Stan saw the way Bill’s eyes squinted at the text on his phone - which was new and expensive; showing his wealth - and how he seemed to strain reading the words. He needed glasses.

“ _Stanley!_ ”

Stan turned to Eddie, who was giving him an exasperated look. “I’m leaving. Drive me home.”

“I’m not done here, yet.” Stan blinked. He had no idea what they’ve been talking about for the last 37 minutes. But he could guess. Richie had a shit-eating grin on his face, looking at Eddie like he won a bet. Eddie had anger behind his eyes and his face was bright red. Richie probably made a comment that pissed Eddie off, and further bet that Stan would refuse to drive him home.  

“It hurts a little, to be right.” Richie mused, grinning. 

“Fuck off.” Eddie snapped, ears bright red. He turned to Stan, looking more insistent this time. “Please Stan?”

“Stan, please, don’t  _worry_. I’d be happy to drive Eds home.” Richie said coyly and  _oh,_ Stan knew the plan now.

Richie wanted alone time with Eddie. If Stan were to refuse, Richie could be alone with Eddie, and Stan could be alone with-

_Oh._

Richie had all cards on the table. If Stan refused, Eddie would go with Richie because he found it too embarrassing to ask one of his heroes to drive him home. This would in turn leave Stan alone with Bill - which Richie knew was ideal for Stanley - and Richie could make his move on a flustered and flushed Eddie. If he accepted, Richie would wave it off and Stan would miss his chance on a new client and/or friend.

Disappoint Richie, someone whom he might as well have been best friends with for over 20 years, or Eddie, a client who he hit on and failed to properly hook up with.

“I’d really like to stay a bit longer.” Stan sighed. “Just have Richie drive you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eddie’s body might as well have given out. How could Stan betray him like this?! After all they had been through??

But Eddie couldn’t just  _say_ he was uncomfortable with Richie driving him home because it wasn’t true! He actually kind of wanted Richie to hit on him! Oh no!

Stan clearly wasn’t budging. Eddie sighed and grabbed his bag, waving one last goodbye before walking outside and taking in the cool air.

Next to him, Richie let out a sigh of relief. That  _bastard_! He planned this!

Richie led him to an expensive looking car that was painted bright pink and had the liscense plate  _TRASHMTH_.

“Trash mountain? Is that where you live?” Eddie asked with no real heat behind his voice.

Richie made no attempt to unlock the car, instead, he leaned against the side and pulled out a cigarette, smiling.

“Eddie Spaghetti knows a few good chucks. Got any more Eddie bear?” He smirked. Douche!!

“Don’t call me that. Out of all the dumbass nicknames- that one is the only one I have to fucking beg not to call me.” Eddie growled.

“Gimme a reason, Babes.” Richie leaned down to meet Eddie’s eyes, now standing in front of Eddie, who’s back was to the car. The closeness between them made Eddie blush. Fucker! Eddie didn’t have to explain himself!

“My...” Eddie took a deep breath and sighed. “My mom, she called me that. She was… horrible. Please, Richie,  _please_ just don’t call me that.” he said sincerely.

Richie’s eyes grew wide and it was his turn to blush. “Yeah, yeah okay. Lemme have a smoke, here, and we’ll uh.. we’ll bounce.” Richie said, shifting his place. Then the serious moment was gone. “Wish I coulda’ met Mama Kaspbrak. Seems like a hoot.”

“Shut up, Richie.” Eddie crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “God, how does Stan deal with you?”

Richie put one hand against the hood of the car, and one in his pocket. Eddie wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face but he was backed up, flush with the passenger side door, so he had to grit his teeth and bare it.

"What do you have against me, Sugar?" Richie mused, eyes raking up and down Eddie's body. It made Eddie tingle a bit. Mother fucker! “What’s your problem with me? Bein’ all snappy all night?”

Eddie gulped. "You're a douche, that's my problem. You get on my fucking nerves."

Richie snorted. "Sure.. sure sure sure." He was hunched over to get closer to Eddie. "And.. that's all, Pretty Boy?"

Eddie shivered.  _Fuck me running_. He thought. He liked that name! More unfortunately he liked it coming out of Richie's trash mouth!! The name made his blood run hot!!! Oh no!!!

The most unfortunate part? Richie noticed!!

"Well well well, someone likes their nickname." He grinned. "What nerves am I getting on now, Pretty Boy? All goods ones, clearly?"

Eddie, whose head was tilted up in defiance, felt a finger trace his Adam's apple. The finger was warm and soft, and slowly turned into a full hand resting on his neck, holding him steady with the thumb under his jaw. Fuck!!

"Tell me what you're thinking Baby Boy." Richie whispered, watching Eddie's breath get more and more ragged.

Eddie could've said a lot in that moment. Things that he wanted! Had been desperate to get since he first got a taste. He wanted someone to fuck him.

He wanted  _Richie_ to fuck him.

But Eddie wouldn't give Richie the satisfaction of knowing that if Hell froze over!!! So he settled something else.

"I.. hate you." He decided.

Richie hummed, clearly having something else on his mind. "Liar." he cooed, and behind Eddie the car beeped. “Let’s ride, Pretty Boy.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath and climbed into the car.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride was quiet. Richie spent the ride following as the GPS said and biting his lower lip. Next to him, Eddie kept a hand around his mouth, looking away from Richie.

Eventually, Richie pulled over on the side of the road. 

“This isn’t my street.” Eddie said curtly.

“This isn’t my forte.” Richie admitted. “Are you, like, hard right now? Or something?”

“Shut  _up_.”

Richie shrugged. “You sure as shit look like it. I won’t jump you, I promise. I’m a hopeless romantic, a flirt who likes to use his silver tongue to make pretty boys like you blush.”

Richie leaned over and pushed (with one finger, the poor boy) Eddie’s hand down. “So stop keeping me from seeing my prize.”

Eddie pursed his lips. He still wasn’t looking at Richie. It gave Richie time to study Eddie’s face.

Eddie was short, but muscular. His hair was curly and poofy, and dyed blond. He had little freckles dotting his nose and was completely clean shaven. He had on a little sweater vest but Richie could point out the beginnings of a tattoo poking out from his collar. In the light of the bar, Eddie’s eyes were a vibrant stormy grey. Now, they might as well have been black.

Richie leaned back against his seat, sighing with a small admittance to defeat. “I’m sorry. I know I’m a terrible person but lemme say, right now, in my defense, I lost touch with reality like 9 years ago.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s fine. Just- ..Just drive me home.”

Richie pulled back onto the road. As they slowly churned through suburban areas with small houses with large yards, Richie’s itch to speak and shatter the terrible, hot silence between them finally broke him.

“Are you free next Friday?”

Eddie looked away from his hands and frowned up at Richie. RIchie sucked in a breath because Eddie..  _God_ , Eddie was  _so pretty_. He had a young, boyish look to him; curly hair, bright eyes, clean face. It was the little details that pointed out his age. The bags beneath his eyes. The faded freckles. The reading glasses poking out of his pocket that Richie desperately wanted to see Eddie in, that was most of it.

“What?”

Richie sighed and finally pulled into Eddie’s driveway. Clearly he had the other man’s attention because Eddie made no attempt at leaving, despite his complaints to be stuck in a car with Richie.

“I-I know you probably see me as a huge douche - and right fully so - but.. You seem.. Really.. Sorta.. Crazy?  A wicked kind of wonderful. A good kind of madness.” he waffled. “Do you wanna go to dinner with me next week? There’s this wonderful 5-star place downtown I go to for meetings. It would suit a high class guy like you.”

Eddie blinked at him, chest and shoulders rising as he inhaled. Richie ( _Oh, woe is me, I don’t know how to shut the fuck up and take no for an answer._ He thought.) continued. “Maybe we could catch a movie at my place? Have some wine? I don’t normally do the whole-” he waved his hands around. “-  _Dating_ thing but um.. Well.. you.. You’re really..” God, Eddie was probably the first person who’s beauty really left Richie speechless.

“Pick me up at 7.” Eddie mumbled.

Richie turned full body to him and let the surprise show across his features. “What?”

“ _7._ ” Eddie repeated, getting out of the car. “See you Friday.”

Eddie, who quickly made his way into the house, watched Richie sit in his driveway, dumbfounded, for probably 3 minutes before shaking his head and pulling out. As soon as the sound of Richie’s stupid pink car were gone, Eddie ran upstairs, stripped out of his stupid clothes and flopped into bed.

He giggled into his pillow.

 _Richie Tozier: Comedian known for his non-stop chatter and impressions. Left_ ** _speechless_**   _and_ ** _dumbfounded_**. By  _Eddie._

Eddie giggled again. 


End file.
